


After the War

by KLStarre



Category: Not Another D&D Podcast (Podcast)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Canon, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:40:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22430443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KLStarre/pseuds/KLStarre
Summary: It's been years since the war. They used to be kids.
Relationships: Erlin Kindleaf/Beverly Toegold V
Comments: 7
Kudos: 93





	After the War

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for episode 88!

It’s been years since it happened, but Beverly still dreams of betrayal. He dreams of the way his voice broke when he begged his father to go, and he dreams of the growing terror in his gut as he and his best friends descended farther and farther into Hell and closer and closer to the task he knew was his, and his alone.

He’s seen worse. He’s been through worse. But this is what sticks in his mind: the smell of it, of the Hellfire, mixed with the blood dripping from mutilated angel wings. That, and the image of his father’s face as they’d fought, an image that wasn’t new even though it _should_ have been, he was a devil, now, he shouldn’t look the same as he had when Beverly was twelve and the world was ending for the first time.

It feels just as real as it had years ago and Beverly’s father swings down on him and he’s just a little bit too slow (not anymore, he wouldn’t be too slow anymore) and he feels separate from his body as he goes down and there’s a flash of green light from his book and –

He awakens, sitting bolt upright, shaking. Someone is screaming. He fumbles for his sword, always next to the bed, before realizing that it’s coming from his throat and forcing his mouth closed. _Sweet P_. Beverly shakes his head, trying to come out of it, and beside him Erlin sits up slowly. No fast movements. The first time this had happened, Erlin had tried to comfort him too fast, and he’d almost cut his hand off.

Once they’re at eye level, Erlin holds his hand out and whispers a quiet word. A light appears, soft and steady, and illuminates both of their faces. Beverly forces himself to breathe. Okay. Okay. He’s okay.

“You’re okay,” Erlin echoes, reaching his other hand out so that Beverly can take it if he wants to. He can’t, yet. But it’s good to know it’s there. Good to know he’s got an anchor.

Slowly, the light takes the shape of a leaf, beautifully detailed. Beverly stares at it. A tendril breaks the shape and turns into a trunk, and then into roots, and the leaf turns into two leaves, and then three, and then hundreds, each intricately rendered and softly glowing. Beverly reaches out and takes Erlin’s hand, warm and safe, just like it always always always has been. A swing appears, hanging from one of the tree’s branches, and drifts back and forth, with what looks like two boys squashed together atop it.

Eventually, Beverly’s shoulders relax, and his shaking stops. Eventually, he is enough in his own body to curl up against Erlin and count along to his heartbeat. Eventually, they sleep.

∞

It’s been years since it happened, but Erlin still dreams of death. He doesn’t talk about it much – there’s nothing to say, really – but he falls asleep and the emptiness of it is waiting for him, smothering. If it were just something he could _fight_ , or something he could _heal_ , that would be one thing. He’s no coward. He has his share of bad dreams, and he deals with them, just like everyone else.

But he doesn’t remember being dead, what it’s like. There’s just a spot in his mind where, for a minute, he didn’t exist. It _must_ be for a minute, because he knows Bev Revivified him, but it feels longer, when he thinks about it. Feels like an eternity, and that’s what it feels like when he dreams about it, too, just nothingness, emptiness, silence, but a feeling that there’s something horribly, terribly wrong and it’s his fault and he should have been able to do something about it but he couldn’t because he’s dead he’s dead he’s dead and still not good enough and –

He wakes up, frozen, lying on his side facing Beverly. The room feels so dark and he wants to reach for his sword or, like, _anything_ , but the concept of moving is too much, so he lies there, breath shallow, until nearly a minute has passed, even though it feels like forever, and Beverly’s eyes flicker open. He always knows, somehow, even though Erlin rarely makes any noise. “Same as always?” he whispers, and Erlin blinks in the only response he’s currently capable of making.

Bev reaches out, slowly, giving Erlin time to pull away if he wants to, and tucks a loose curl behind Erlin’s ear, stroking his cheek. Erlin closes his eyes as Bev continues to run his fingers through his hair, focusing on the sensation of human contact, the reminder that he is _alive_ and this is _his body_ and he is _part of it._ The motion stops, and Erlin’s eyes snap open, terrified of being alone again even though he knows that Bev is right there, but it’s okay, he’s just reaching over to grab his paints from his bedside table, where they rest beside his sword, and then he whispers something to himself and throws up a shield around both of them. It glows slightly, enough for them to see each other clearly, but it’s also a sign of safety.

Bev holds the paints out to Erlin, and Erlin finds himself able to nod, but not able to sit up, and Bev’s hands are strong as they help him. Bev starts on his nails, first, in orange and yellow, and Erlin closes his eyes again, focusing on the barely present sensation of the brush. After ten minutes or so, Bev moves to the top of his foot, brushstrokes slow and steady, and Erlin breathes along with them, each movement a reminder that he is here, he is safe, he is here, he is alive.

The sun rises before Bev finishes, and they don’t go back to sleep. That’s okay. Death is, for now, behind them.


End file.
